My cat just gave me the ultimate in insults, the cream of the crop, solid gold, top drawer…literally the cat’s pyjamas of impudence. After his weeklong absence, to which we both agreed provided a new appreciation for the other’s presence, he has been found in breach of hand/paw contract.

Stanley’s tenure away from the house was one of bafflement, angst and regret. He seemed to have vanished, leaving no trace of paw prints, no whiskers of evidence to be found; his whereabouts were a complete mystery. Having just about given up on the prospect of holding his furry, warm body on my lap ever again, I heartbrokenly found myself making bold promises were he to come home to me; declarations to keep him inside the house no matter how loud he requested to be let outside, to tame the beast inside him that precipitated his neighborhood wanderlust. I would keep him safe inside the premises even if it drove him blistering mad.

As luck would have it, Stanley was returned to us, uninjured and healthy, albeit skinny and a bit abashed. Our reunion was joyous, filled with mutual appreciation; an abundance of food and pets for him, a good deal of warm lap cuddles and hearty purrs for me. We got on in this state for a solid 12 hours before his hearty yowls began again, before his pacing from door to door wore an invisible footpath in the linoleum. There he stood at the slider then the front door, the slider, the front, his green eyes imploring me to do the unthinkable. And there I sat. Until finally the walls began to crumble, the torture to my eardrums became unbearable…and I did the inconceivable. I let him back outside. The agreement was clear, he would not venture out more than necessary, only going so far as to ensure his turf was unbreached, his reign intact and then promptly return. He had no reason to venture beyond our property after all! No reason to feel pavement beneath his paws when he could count on my warm lap and full food bowl inside the house.

We got on in this fashion for several days, me letting him out within minutes of his request, him returning quickly when called. Trotting back indoors, a look of contentment and pleasure in his eyes, a convincing show of his compliance with our contract.

But tonight as sure as the hair in his coat is black and the twinkle in his eye is emerald, Stanley rose up and gave me the middle finger. Having elected to make an evening run to the grocery for none other than catnip of all things, I was on my merry way home, taking in the holiday lights and scenes when a black shape darted in front of my vehicle and crossed the busy road! A blur in the twilight, barely noticeable. I thought to myself … surely… SURELY that couldn’t be – wouldn’t be – my sweet little darling Stanley! We had a deal after all. But I knew that form well, hours of lap snuggles and stroking of silky ebony fur do not lie. As I stood there in our yard, calling his name and watching his return from the concrete jungle I felt his lithe body slip past me and into the house with the whisper of the middle finger.

I don’t know where the dissatisfaction lies most…in his blatant breach of our unwritten contract or my weakness of resolve. What I do know is that in the moment, sometimes promises are made. And sometimes those promises are broken for the good of all in earshot. And sometimes my cat is a dick.